Sheikh's Desert Duty

He poured her a very full glass of red, not even looking unsteady when the plane picked up momentum. Then he put a stopper back in the bottle, and put it back in the cabinet. Before walking nonchalantly across the cabin and handing her the glass. He took a seat across from her, his hands noticeably empty of a drink.

“I think you and I have a lot in common, really. We both want Chatsfield blood. I think you should help me get some.” She took a sip of the wine, and fought to keep her expression neutral. This was not cheap wine.

If she ever did buy herself wine for home, it usually came in mini-bottles or a box. Silk taste, polyester budget and all that.

“Later. Later you will have your scandal. For now we can talk wedding business.”

Irritation spiked through her, and she fought to keep from showing him, fought to keep from revealing her hand any more than she already had. “But you are getting married? That’s true, right?”

“Yes, I am.”

She noticed he didn’t sound overjoyed at the mention of the upcoming union. She would file that away, as well. She would also continue down this line of questioning, because he was being a bit more forthcoming on this topic than on the topic of the Chatsfields.

She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs, and holding the wine out over the cream-colored carpet as the plane started to ascend. She didn’t have very many nice dresses, and she would be darned if she was going to get a red wine stain on one of the few she did own. His carpet would pay the price before this sequined masterpiece did.

“When is the wedding?”

A strange-looking smile curved the corners of his lips. It was not a happy expression, neither did it hold very much humor. “Three weeks.”

That would likely put her right at the center of the action. In spite of herself, she did find that exciting. “I imagine a lot of the preparation is under way already.”

“While my staff is executing much of it, my fiancée is dictating the activity from her home country.”

“She isn’t from Surhaadi?”

“No. My fiancée is the princess of a small European country. The fourth-born child in the family, and the only girl. She is still living in the palace there.”

“Long-distance relationship, understandable. Though not ideal.”

He shrugged. “I find nothing terribly un-ideal about it. There is no reason for Christine to uproot her life prior to our union becoming official.”

“Some people might not consider it very inconvenient to uproot things for the person they love.”

“Who said anything about love?” His dark eyes connected with hers and sent a shock wave down to her stomach. She took a deep breath, trying to ignore it.

She supposed she of all people shouldn’t have inferred love into a conversation about marriage. She hardly thought her own father loved the woman he was married to. Now, she didn’t suppose that the man loved her mother, either, but he certainly didn’t love his wife. If he did, why would he conduct so many affairs? Why would he conduct affairs with anyone at all?

“I don’t suppose anyone did. Except for me.”

“It is not a secret that my union with Christine has more to do with politics than feelings.”

“Oh, but the world loves a love match.” She leaned back in her seat, lifting her wineglass to her lips. “I should very much doubt if the public is content to imagine that you are simply allies for politics and not for pleasure.”

A political union would not make for a very strong hook in her piece. A piece she would have to give some consideration to, regardless of her primary aim of interviewing Zayn. Because Colin was expecting a story about a royal wedding now, and she had to deliver.

That wasn’t a problem, though, she was used to multitasking. Unlike most of her peers she’d had to hold on to a part-time job while going to school. And again, unlike most of her classmates, there had been no job waiting for her when she graduated. So there had been internships, combined with late shifts waitressing at bars.

No, multitasking wasn’t a problem for her.

“Yes, I daresay the public will be disappointed on that score.”

“Unless you decide to show them something else.”

“To what end?” He looked at her, and she could see that he was clearly intrigued.

“To the end of positive public opinion. Which I should think for a world leader would be of the utmost importance.” She knew all about playing that game, because in her life presenting a positive front, presenting a polished front, had been imperative.

Most everyone she’d gone to university with were simply accepted, based on their names and connections, but she hadn’t had that. Sophie had been forced to earn respect. She hadn’t been able to afford the mistakes the rest of her friends had been allowed to make. Any slip-up in behavior for them could be perceived as a simple youthful rebellion. For her, it was a revealing window into just how unsophisticated she was. Just how unsuitable she was. It was proof that, as they all expected, she didn’t belong.

For those reasons she’d had to be above reproach, because she was starting at a place of disadvantage.

Yes, Sophie knew all about manipulating public opinion—or in her case, the opinion of university administration and her fellow students—to her advantage.

“It certainly is, but shouldn’t my efforts to improve relations between countries count for something?”

“Certainly, and I’m sure for some it will. But it will be lost on others. And while they might accept your union with a kind of blissful neutrality, or at least a bit of interest in what your bride will be wearing, they would be a lot more interested in romance.”

“Then I give you leave to infer romance to your heart’s content when you write your piece.”

Sophie took another sip of wine. “I promise to read between the lines judiciously.”

“By which you mean you promise to read things that aren’t there?”

“That is a particular specialty of those who report on high-society stories.”

For the first time since he’d pulled her unceremoniously from the alley, the corners of his lips turned upward into a smile. It was not a smile that expressed happiness, but rather one that seemed to be laughing at some kind of perverse amusement. He rubbed his hand across his chin, fingertips grazing his square jaw, and she found herself distracted by the sound of his skin rubbing against the dark stubble. It was a very masculine thing, and she had not been exposed to many masculine things in her life.

An all-female household, female roommates, until she finally got her tiny apartment and lived alone.

Men were something of a foreign animal to her, and as she looked across to the man sitting opposite her, she realized he was an extremely foreign animal indeed.

He was magnetic, his features strong, dark brows, a blade-straight nose, eyes the color of midnight, framed by sooty lashes, the sort of lips that would entice lesser women to compose poetry about them.

Had he any softness to him, he might’ve been called beautiful. But he did not, so she would not. Beautiful wasn’t the right word.

Powerful, that was the word. The kind of power that far exceeded most of the people she’d been exposed to. No matter how influential a society family in New York might be, a sheikh certainly outstripped them.

He was the sort of man with ultimate power, not a man ruled by the laws of this, or any, land, really. Beneath his well-tailored suit, she could sense he was a man who didn’t ascribe to civility in a typical sense. Well, her presence on this plane was proof enough of that.

He was dangerous, she realized with a sudden jolt. And for some reason, she found that more fascinating than repulsing. She couldn’t figure out why.

She would attribute that to the masculine inexperience thing. Because it was easier than having to examine it deeper. This way, she could stick it in the “men are mystery” drawer and close it tight.

She suddenly became very aware of the fact that her heart was beating faster than normal. She would ignore that, too.

“Yes, I am well aware that it is a skill of the press, to imply all kinds of things.” The smile stayed fixed on his face, but there was a darkness to it now. A terrifying emptiness that was reflected in his eyes.

“In this case, perhaps it will benefit you.”

The smile widened, and she felt an answering tightness in her chest, as though he had managed to forge a link between his facial expressions and her insides. As though he had not just kidnapped her body, but had seized control over other parts of her. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

“Perhaps it will benefit both of us in the end.”

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